


Lawbreakers, Not Heartbreakers

by Cleverclove



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: AU, Angst, Anything You’d Like If You Send A Request, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, More tags to be added, Multi, One-Shots, Spa Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleverclove/pseuds/Cleverclove
Summary: One-shot fics where I take prompts. I like exploring my limits in writing, but I do like relationship and friendship writing. Easy reads and just little projects I’d be happy to write! Lil’ snippet from the 1st chapter below:“As a child, whenever she felt sad after scraping her knees or some other minor incident, she would always go to the beach and splash around or squish the sand and it would make her feel better. She was not a child anymore. She looked towards the sunset but even the calming colors had no effect. She suddenly wished she had thought to go to a closet or a bathroom or something but she now felt glued to her spot in the sand. All the blinked-back tears of fury and frustration burst out in a frenzied sob. And even now, with no one there, she could feel eyes on her, the judgemental eyes of Shadow-san and the rolling eyes of Tigress or even the pitying eyes of Crackle. Her hands balled into fistfuls of sand, trying desperately to control herself. No such luck.”
Relationships: Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep & Shadowsan, El Topo | Antonio & Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep, El Topo | Antonio/Le Chèrve | Jean-Paul (background only), Ivy/Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep, Mime Bomb & Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Paper Star/Mime Bomb
Comments: 70
Kudos: 102





	1. Somos Amigos, Part 1

Black Sheep, for the first time since Shadow-san’s pocket test, felt completely and utterly awful. Even though there was no doubt in her mind that Shadow-san rigged the test somehow, a feeling of pain at not having won over his trust that she would succeed lingered within her like a parasite. She tried everything to get it out of her mind, but she could still hear her voice breaking when Crackle guiltily broke the news to her. There was only one other time after that she lost her composure. Confronting Shadow-san. The way he spat how, for how great of a prodigy she was, unruly and undisciplined she was replayed in her mind as she lay in her now very empty dorm room. At night she would punch her pillow pretending it was Shadow-san and in the day she walked the halls, giving him dirty looks and staring wistfully at Crackle, El Topo, Le Chèrve, Tigress, and Mime Bomb plotting their first caper in the library where they first came up with codenames. At times Crackle would look back apologetically or Tigress would give a smug look that Black Sheep would have loved to slap off. Other than that, there was no sign that Black Sheep was ever part of the group.

At least there was Player she could talk to. Without the company of her roommates, she was pretty much free to rant to him. 

“It’s just so _unfair,”_ she growled, tears of anger prickling in her eyes. She blinked them back.

Player answered sympathetically, “Look on the bright side! You’ll know pretty much everything next year.”

“I don’t _want_ to know everything next year,” she said, “I already knew everything when I walked through the doors at orientation.”

“Well,” Player said, “you’ll meet new friends?”

Black Sheep exhaled. Player was a good kid and a brother to her, but he had no idea what it was like to have to be treated like a misbehaving child when she knew she was so much more skilled than even the most capable graduates. Maybe it was harsh to think that way, but Black Sheep was so caught up in the unfairness of it all that she found that she didn’t care.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said finally, “but at least I have you, right?”

She could hear Player’s smile through the phone. “Of course, Red.”

“Thanks Player. Talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later.”

She hung up and decided to walk to the shore to clear her head. It was late afternoon and Coach Brunt trusted her to be back in time for curfew. She sat by the beach, watching the waves ebb and flow while it faded into the distant crimson sunset as sweet and warm as childhood. She sat, pulling her knees to her torso. Black Sheep closed her eyes and buried her face into them. She was all alone now. 

_All alone. All alone._

As a child, whenever she felt sad after scraping her knees or some other minor incident, she would always go to the beach and splash around or squish the sand and it would make her feel better. She was not a child anymore. She looked towards the sunset but even the calming colors had no effect. She suddenly wished she had thought to go to a closet or a bathroom or something but she now felt glued to her spot in the sand. All the blinked-back tears of fury and frustration burst out in a frenzied sob. And even now, with no one there, she could feel eyes on her, the judgemental eyes of Shadow-san and the rolling eyes of Tigress or even the pitying eyes of Crackle. Her hands balled into fistfuls of sand, trying desperately to control herself. No such luck. 

Then suddenly, she felt a presence beside her. “Hey _amiga,”_ the voice whispered, “It’s El Topo. Do you want me to stay here with you?”

El Topo. Black Sheep didn’t raise her eyes, for they were likely swollen and she would not let him see that. But she slowly let one fist go to pat the spot on her right, and that was enough for him. He rested his head on her shoulder, slinging a muscled arm around her back, letting his thumb make a few calming circles. Black Sheep didn’t really know why he was comforting her. Sure they were in the same friend group, but mostly it was friendly waves and some harmonious group projects. She hung out with Crackle for a lot of the time and El Topo with Le Chèrve. Yet here he was, comforting her as if they actually knew each other. 

_“Gr-Gracias, El Topo,”_ she managed, and El Topo hummed in response.

_“Es no problemo, amiga,”_ he said warmly and shifted to hug her properly.

Just like the waves in front of them, Black Sheep’s sobs receded gradually. El Topo helped her through the last of them by breathing steadily, occasionally whispering calming phrases into her ear. 

When she was done, they just sat there. She didn’t really know what to say. “Why did you come here,” she asked finally.

“I like,” he hesitated a bit, seeming embarrassed, then continued, “collecting seashells here.”

“Oh.” She said. She always wondered why he wasn’t at the bunks after Saturday dinners. “Sorry about interrupting your beach-combing.”

“Never be sorry,” he said amiably, “I am here for anyone who needs me.”

She grinned a bit at that despite herself. “You do this a lot.” He did. It wasn’t uncommon to see him comforting other trainees during the school year. “Do you ever…get tired of helping everyone?”

“Not really,” he responded.

“How? Don’t you have your own problems?”

El Topo stopped to think about it. “Well,” he said quietly, “I think that is the point. I know what a lot of people might feel, though maybe not the circumstances. I can relate to feeling alone or worthless or- well, you get the picture. I do not want those I care about to feel that they are alone.”

Black Sheep huffed softly. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

He smiled. “And you know what, if this is about that whole ‘not passing’ thing, Shadow-san really does _suck.”_

“Yes, _thank you.”_ They laughed together. 

“And I just know you will be the best next year as you were this year,” he exclaimed brightly, “you helped me so much in Brunt’s class. Like that one rappelling class? You and Le Chèrve are lifesavers.”

“El Topo, you nailed that one Stealth course where we had to hide for a week without being caught. You probably kept all of us fed.”

“Black Sheep, it was _not_ worth hiding in the pantry and I would not recommend it. I felt like the rat from that one Pixar movie when it was done.”

Black Sheep raised an eyebrow. “But it’s huge? And spacey? And has enough Cheetos to last a lifetime?”

He bit his lip and let out a breath. “I have…a fear of rats. I mean, I have no doubt the kitchen is clean, but you never know where the little creeps are.” He made a disgusted gesture.

“Well aren’t moles rodents too?”

“At least they do not linger in your kitchen,” he shuddered, _“watching you.”_

“Ooookay then…,” she said, holding back a cackle.

They just sat and spoke for a while. Apparently El Topo and she shared a love of memes (though he was quite puzzled as to how she would have known them without having a phone all her life. She quickly responded that Dr. Bellum introduced her to them). And a hatred (or, in El Topo’s words, “heavy dislike”) of Tigress’s pranks, which mostly consisted of scaring poor El Topo in the hallways in front of other people.

He walked her back to the dorm room, waving kindly. “It was good talking to you, Black Sheep,” he said pleasantly, “and for the record, I know we have never been close, but if you ever need a friend, I am always there.”

Black Sheep beamed at him. “Thank you, El Topo. Goodnight.”

———————————————————

Sometimes Carmen Sandiego wishes that the El Topo that comforted her that night, the one who likes to collect seashells, were different from the one she had to fight every time she ran into him.


	2. Somos Amigos, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hoped Le Chèrve knew he loved him, that Tigress knew that, despite everything, he cared for her. He hoped Mime Bomb found a friend to talk to. He thought he made what he thought of Paper Star blatantly clear. Carmen Sandiego. Now that is a strange thought. But if he had to, he hoped Carmen knew that she would always be his friend. Always has been, bizarrely. And finally, (selfishly, he thinks), he hoped he would go quickly and painlessly.

The first thing El Topo felt when he stirred to consciousness was an awful, aching  _ throbbing  _ in his head. He turned to one side, but all he felt was gravel and a metal beam to his temple. He forced his eyes open, and blurred train tracks met his vision. His hands and feet were bound in rope and his mouth was muted by a white rag in his mouth. 

_ “You like tunnels, don’t you, gopher boy?”  _

Paper Star’s singsong voice flashed in his memory. He screamed desperately for Le Chèrve or  _ anyone,  _ but it was muffled by the rag. He remembered now. This was the Gotthard Base Tunnel in Switzerland. And the train would arrive at 4:30 PM. He raised his tethered hands to his eyes to check his watch, but it was gone.

_ She’d knocked him out first. He awoke after a few minutes to see himself bound. She grinned, as if she had just given him a very thoughtful birthday present. “This tunnel you’re going to visit is long, but there is a light at the end.” She explained, patting his hands. He yanked away immediately. She scowled. “Oh, I’m not talking about this one. I’m talking about the one you’re going to go through to  _ **_meet your maker.”_ **

El Topo made an attempt to lean up against the wall, but an unbearable pain flared up in his left ankle. He cried out.  _ I do not sound human,  _ he thought after he screamed himself hoarse,  _ I am a dying animal.  _ He limped against the walls surrounding the train track and looked at his left ankle and immediately wished he hadn’t.

_ She threw him roughly into the tracks. “How do they say it in Swedish,” she asked mockingly, “adjö.” He met the gravel and tracks, a piercing pain shooting through his body before everything went black. _

__ His ankle twisted almost 90 degrees the wrong way. He didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. An odd mix of all three came out. He was alone, with nothing but his own thoughts, a useless ankle, and impending death by passenger train. What a way to go. He really should be doing something,  _ anything else,  _ but what was the use? He could try to find the ladders used by track workers, but with his ankle, mobility was off the table. He could do nothing. El Topo curled into a fetal position on the tracks, closed his eyes for impact, and howled into the dark tunnel. He didn’t even know how far the train was. Could be seconds. Minutes. Hours. It didn’t matter, he was a dead man either way. 

_ And what do I do with the time I have,  _ he thinks bitterly,  _ I whimper like a dog. _

__ He hoped Le Chèrve knew he loved him, that Tigress knew that, despite everything, he cared for her. He hoped Mime Bomb found a friend to talk to. He thought he made what he thought of Paper Star blatantly clear.  _ Carmen Sandiego.  _ Now that is a strange thought. But if he had to, he hoped Carmen knew that she would always be his friend. Always has been, bizarrely. And finally, (selfishly, he thinks), he hoped he would go quickly and painlessly.

“Is anyone down there?” A female voice echoed in the tunnel. He’d know that voice anyone because he hears it everywhere he goes. Carmen Sandiego.

She was far away from what he could tell.  _ It is your imagination,  _ a more rational voice says inside him. But it was something, and that something was hope.

There was no use trying to scream coherent words, the rag did its job quite efficiently. But he let out a long, loud yell, enough to establish that he was there. He couldn’t hear footsteps yet, but another sound reached his ears. The long  _ toot  _ of a train sounded distantly but clearly. Desperately, El Topo screamed again. 

“I’m coming!” The voice was closer too, and faintly, just faintly, the rapid clacking of boots on the upper level could be heard. El Topo crawled to the nearest wall and turned behind him. The train was to his right, Carmen to his left. There was no telling which would meet him first.

_ Clack clack. Clack clack.  _ Could it be? If the Black Sheep he had known was fast, Carmen Sandiego was faster. He hoped with every inch of his tiny being she was fast enough. 

_ But why would she save me?  _ The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it. She had no good reason to. For all he knew, she would take one glance at him and leave him to good old Thomas the Choo-Choo Slay Train. With all the times they’d clashed during capers, she’d probably do it with a smile. 

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you think you’re going to die. For El Topo, it was his thoughts that flashed before his eyes like a bullet.  _ A miserable end to a miserable life. This cannot be happening. Let me say goodbye. Will it hurt?  _ The train approached rapidly. He could see the front light from here. He closed his eyes. His mind went clear. There were no more sounds except for his shaky breaths. He wasn’t ready, but he would accept it. There was only one thought:  _ I will see them all on the other side.  _

Then he felt a metal  _ something  _ hit his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see a small golden hook. On that hook was black wiry fiber. Holding that grappling hook was none other than Carmen Sandiego, who stared at him with wide eyes. For a moment, all he could do was gawk back in disbelief.

_ “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR??? GRAB ON,”  _ she yelled over the approaching noise of the train. She didn’t need to tell him twice. With a hop, he was on his right foot and climbing up her hook. She pulled him up when he made it most of the way. Just as she linked an arm around him, the train came barging by them, nothing but a blur before their eyes. Subconsciously, he counted nearly forty seconds of the train before it left, leaving no evidence it was ever there. 

Carmen had taken to untying his bonds, but El Topo barely noticed. He could have been run over by that train. For what seemed like the hundredth time, his face burned with tears. He could have  _ died.  _ Carmen stiffened as she heard the first sob, yanking the handkerchief out of his mouth gently. 

“Are you alright?” It was a simple question, and her tone didn’t force him to answer.

He looked squarely in her eyes, lower lip trembling as he shook his head. He buried his face into his knees and began to rock himself. Carmen looked at him, expression unreadable in the dim light. Then she did the most unexpected thing. She  _ hugged  _ him. His hand met the concrete from impact but the other hand hugged back. This situation felt so familiar and for a moment he could close his eyes and see them both, younger, more innocent. Him comforting her. It was her turn. 

“Why,” he asked into her shoulder, “why did you save me?”

Carmen pulled away, gray eyes searching for a response. “Because I don’t just watch my friends when they’re in trouble.” And for a minute, there was a pregnant silence. 

“I owe you my life,” he said, more to himself than her.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she replied firmly, “now let’s take you to the hospital. That’s some twisted ankle.”

“Do not mention it,” he said flatly, then more apologetically, “sorry about your grappling hook.”

She hummed in response. “I’ll get a new one. Do you have your phone?” He shook his head. She pulled out her own phone. “I’m going to call my friend Zack, who will drive us to the hospital. Then I’ll call Le Chèrve to let him know. What’s his number?”

He gave her the number. She helped him limp to the car, where a skinny ginger man with blue eyes and a fair complexion awaited. He looked perplexed and even ready to fight when he saw El Topo, but Carmen quickly explained the situation. Once she checked him in, she insisted that all bills be given to her, winked at El Topo, and left. Once she was gone, he asked the nurse if the young woman who brought her here had left a hotel name. To his surprise, the nurse said Carmen told him that she had stayed in a hotel nearby and would be for a few more weeks. The precise time period for the intended crime, rather larger-scaled than usual. He thanked the nurse and waited for Le Chèrve. He hoped Amazon had grappling hooks.

——————————————

Carmen chuckled in self-satisfaction. After a long day of foiling a weeks-long caper (and celebratory Swedish meatballs), she was ready to pack her bags for the next big mission. The first thing she noticed was the big box on her bed. She approached it cautiously. She picked up a white card on top of it. It read:  _ ¡Muchas gracias para todos! I hope you like this. It was very hard to find one in your color. Until next time, Carmen Sandiego…Tu amigo, El Topo.  _

She smiled. That eliminated most of her doubt and she opened her box. Inside was a beautiful radiant red grappling hook. She took it out and pointed it at the floor, and a lovely silver hook came out with black fiber. Carmen Sandiego felt like a child on Christmas morning. 

“Thank you, El Topo,” she said softly. And though they could not officially be friends due to their loyalties, from that day on, neither Carmen nor El Topo let that stop them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request for my lovely friend Breemarie12256. Please, please, please check their work out, they are great writers! This also turned out very angsty. Sorry but not really lol. I also wrote this with a headache, so sorry if there are typos or other mistakes.


	3. Shards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I failed them both,” responded Ivy miserably, “who knows what they’re doing to him because of my mistakes?”
> 
> “Ivy, he’s been captured by VILE before. He’ll know what it’s like.”
> 
> “NOT ALONE,” she burst suddenly. Carmen jolted. She’d never seen Ivy so angry at herself.

Ivy’s heart pounded. In her left hand she grabbed her wrench so tightly it would leave an imprint without a doubt. But that didn’t matter. Not now. Because her best friend, her _brother,_ was not by her side. And it was her fault. 

Carmen Sandiego sat beside her on the couch in the warehouse lounge, but Ivy didn’t realize she was there until she offered her a mug of ice water. Ivy looked at her, then the mug, which she took gratefully in her right hand. 

“So…,” Carmen looked uncomfortable, “I guess we should talk about what happened earlier.”

Ivy clenched her wrench tighter, palm whitening, a fine sheen of sweat developing from where she grasped it. “Yeah, no,” she said shortly, blowing ginger hair out of her eyes, “I don’t need to remember that I royally screwed up the mission and my brother is probably being held hostage by VILE for that.”

Carmen rubbed between her eyes, sighing. “No one’s blaming you, Ivy,” she uttered gently, “no one except yourself.”

Ivy huffed. “I was _right there,”_ she growled to herself, “I could have pushed him out of the way or distracted that operative. _It should have been me.”_

Ivy suddenly felt hot and heavy as memories swirled in her head. She buried her head in her hands. _It really should have._

_Before their parents died in that Boston hospital, their mother leaned over and uttered, “Will you take care of each other?”_

_Nine-year old Ivy sniffed as she held Zack tightly. “Yes, momma,” she cried thickly as Zack asked innocent questions._

_Their mother smiled, took both of their hands in her own charred ones, and whispered, “Good. Momma loves you.” She squeezed once, twice, and her mother’s bright blue eyes never opened again._

“Ivy…IVY!” Carmen’s frantic voice brought her back to earth. Ivy suddenly felt aware of Carmen’s gloved arms gently shaking her freckled shoulders. 

“I pr-,” Ivy gasped out, crossing her arms to meet Carmen’s on her shoulders, “promised Momma. I’d take care of him. We’d take care of each other. We’d only had each other until…until you.” She leaned her head to lean into their intertwined hands. 

Carmen subconsciously caressed Ivy’s cheek in a gesture of sympathy. “You are not failing your momma in any way,” she insisted, “and I promise you, Zack can be very resourceful when he needs to. He’ll buy us enough time for us to come for him.”

“I failed them both,” responded Ivy miserably, “who knows what they’re doing to him because of my mistakes?”

“Ivy, he’s been captured by VILE before. He’ll know what it’s like.”

“NOT _ALONE,”_ she burst suddenly. Carmen jolted. She’d never seen Ivy so angry at herself.

Ivy seemed to realize it too. She’d knocked over her mug of ice water, causing a great crash on the floor. “Sorry, Carm,” she mumbled, suddenly feeling numb, “I’ll grab the dust pan.”

“No, it’s fine,” Carmen said as she got up to grab it under the fridge, “you need a break.”

“Shoot, Carm, so do you,” remarked Ivy.

Carmen exhaled in a way that would hardly be considered a laugh. “You’ve been through a lot for nineteen.”

“You’ve been through a lot for twenty. Your point?”

“My point is that I didn’t choose to be raised by amoral criminals.” Carmen swatted Ivy’s hand away when she reached for the dustpan. “But you _chose_ to follow me. Why?”

_Why?_ Simple question, so why did Ivy’s mouth suddenly feel dry? It could have been that Carmen offered her a life of adventure, but that wasn’t it. Ivy’s life in the pit stop was exciting, no doubt. However, Carmen gave her the chance that the race track couldn’t. 

_The chance to have someone else who cared._ Even if she hadn’t turned her back on repairing, she knew that she and Zack would only have each other. All the other head honchos in the leagues probably trained their whole lives with the love and encouragement of their families. Zack and Ivy would always be outsiders in that regard. But Carmen didn’t care if Ivy barely graduated high school to help raise Zack or that Zack dropped out anyway in junior year. She didn’t care if Ivy wasn’t classy or graceful. She cared for _Ivy._ Not Ivy’s flaws like most people. _Ivy._

Carmen looked at her.

Ivy looked back. “Because, Carm, you cared. It’s very rare to find someone like that for people like me and Zack.”

Carmen’s eyes glanced down modestly. “Wow, Ivy…I don’t know what to say about that other than thanks.” She got up to throw away the shards of the mug.

Ivy looked back down at her wrench. She let it fall out of her hand into the couch as a slow realization crept over her. She cared about Carmen too. 

She owed Zack 10 bucks if she ever saw him again. Ugh.

Carmen came back and slung an arm over Ivy’s back. “You know, Ivy,” Carmen said tiredly, “it’s not hard to care for you.”

Ivy snickered. “Sure it is. I wouldn’t win any awards. I’m your average constant mistake maker.”

Carmen chuckled wryly. “‘Mistake maker,’ you say? Isn’t that just a description of humankind?”

“I’d like to see _you_ make bad choices on an hourly basis,” Ivy said.

“Oh, I’ve had my share. Ivy,” she said, grabbing both of Ivy’s hands her own, “I know I have a bit of a temper sometimes. I don’t mean to lash out at you. Sometimes, things just don't go my way and that’s not your fault.”

It was Ivy’s turn to be surprised. “Carm, you’re fine. _More_ than fine, actually.”

Carmen sighed. She was only a year older than Ivy, but life had drained her far more than she deserved. “Is anything fine?”

Ivy squeezed Carmen’s hands uneasily. “I don’t know,” she said at last.

Carmen Sandiego, for once, didn’t try to cover. With her, she didn’t need to. “Ivy, I promise you, we will get Zack back. Player’s already analyzing voice samples.”

Ivy pounced on her then, burying her face into Carmen’s shoulder. If Carmen was surprised, she didn’t show it, instead returning the sentiment just as fast and fiercely. “Thank you, Carmen,” she muttered into her friend’s ear. Carmen responded by hugging harder.

“Ivy, you know I love you both.” Pulling away, her blue eyes met Carmen’s gray. Ivy’d seen enough for a lifetime. But there was something missing: her. 

“We love you too, Carm,” said Ivy, then more hesitantly, she added, _“I_ love you.”

Ivy’s eyes widened in realization of what she just said. “I’m sorry,” she stuttered, “I should go.” She got up to go _anywhere_ else to spare her any more embarrassment, but Carmen grabbed her hand before she could.

“Wait!” In a flash, Carmen intertwined her fingers with Ivy’s, tugging her closer. Ivy toppled onto the couch, and suddenly an intimacy that was too close to be friendly filled the room. Ivy didn’t realize Carmen had leaned in until some unknown force pulled her in and then there was no longer any distance. And she liked it that way. 

The world didn’t stay still like it did in movies Ivy’s mother used to watch. Zack was still in VILE’s custody. Carmen still didn’t know what to believe. Still, something changed. Ivy was convinced that somehow, despite everything, it would be alright in the end.

If you looked at them later that night, with Ivy holding Carmen’s hand instead of her wrench, it would be hard to believe these girls were broken by life. They were. Ivy hated when she couldn’t fix things as a child. _Still, without shards,_ she thinks in a rare moment of clarity when she melted back into Carmen’s lips, _what good is stained glass?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again for my friend Breemarie12256, this is a Carmivy hurt/comfort fic. Hope you enjoyed! This was fun, especially since I hadn’t tried writing Ivy yet.


	4. Constants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loneliness was something Mime Bomb knew too well. In life, sugar pie, Coach Brunt told him once, there are three constants: change, choice, and death. However, Mime Bomb was inclined to add two more constants: his little sister and isolation.

Loneliness was something Mime Bomb knew too well. _In life, sugar pie,_ Coach Brunt told him once, _there are three constants: change, choice, and death._ However, Mime Bomb was inclined to add two more constants: his little sister and isolation.

Black Sheep, of course, kept him from being totally alone. And she was _insufferable._

_“Kuya, kuya!”_ She cried, running on her chubby legs. Mime Bomb smiled. Their most recent nanny was Filipina, and _kuya_ meant big brother. “Look at my water bottle trick.” 

Mime Bomb humored her, looking into the flimsy plastic bottle. Turns out “water bottle trick” was a nicely worded way to say “squirting water in your face.” Turns out Black Sheep was very ticklish. By the end of it, both curled over each other, sides hurting from laughing so hard. 

But while Black Sheep lit the halls with these pranks and the smiles that came after, earning her many older playmates, Mime Bomb could have crawled into his skin at the thought of even trying a conversation with these older, wiser people who probably wouldn’t spare a glance at the quiet little shrimp that was him.

He didn’t need them anyway. Black Sheep was there for him. He was there for her. That was all he needed. 

——————————————

That didn’t mean he was _opposed_ to relationships, though. Unfortunately, years of muteness and introversion couldn’t be changed in a night. It took a toll on his social life when he came of age to finally train officially. Black Sheep came too, the little precocious lamb. He pleaded desperately with the Faculty to let him stay with her. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it without her. Brunt, thank goodness, pulled strings to make sure her little baby bears stayed together. He’d risked his very ribs to let her hug him that night. So, with Black Sheep by his side, he would face all that VILE Academy had to offer. 

“We got this, Mime Bro,” she said confidently as they walked into the dorm for the first time.

Mime Bomb shook his head as he pointed to himself with one finger, then nodded, pointing at her. It got the message across: _You got this. I don’t._

Black Sheep pouted, a habit she’d had since she was a girl. Then she planted her palms into his shoulder blades hard. “You. Got. This,” she emphasized. He didn’t have time to argue. Their roommates had arrived.

——————————————

To no one’s surprise, Black Sheep began making new friends. Her closest, Mime Bomb noted, was a boyishly handsome Australian man called Graham. Not that Mime Bomb cared or anything. 

To no one else’s surprise, Mime Bomb was a loner. He tried, at least. The trainees Jean-Paul and Antonio were far more concerned with each other than with him (Jean-Paul seemed to hold him in quite a low regard). Antonio, though, was sweet to everyone, which was refreshing, but they’d never be very close. That left Sheena. He’d hoped she’d be open to a companionship, at least. He learned soon enough that she wasn’t there to make friends, much less with a “creepy little snitch” like him. 

Black Sheep gave her a black eye and a slew of colorful words in other languages after class. Tigress never picked on him in front of her again. 

He loved his sister so much.

——————————————

Mime Bomb stormed far too intimidatingly for someone under 130 pounds. Shadow-san didn’t know what he had gotten into. He’d decided against going to Coach Brunt (the woman would have gladly crushed Shadow-san’s skull for fun) but his little sister, his wonderful, bright, feisty little sister, didn’t deserve to be held back. Not when she aced every class, _including_ Shadow-san’s, and faster than him, at that. She was set to be the finest VILE Academy had ever produced. With that, he ran up to Black Sheep and pointed out the Cleaners prepping the helipad for the newest members of VILE. He watched as he allowed her to sneak onto that helicopter so she could experience her first caper. She deserved that.

He didn’t know why she acted so cold to him after that fateful mission. When he ran to embrace her, she walked by as if in a daze. Mime Bomb cried himself to sleep out of distress that night. _What did I do wrong?_ Black Sheep didn’t even call him Mime Bro or Kuya or _anything._ She didn’t talk to anyone at all.

And then she left.

——————————————

There were only four constants now: change, choices, death, and isolation. Black Sheep was dead. Or at least, that’s what the Faculty claimed. 

She wasn’t really. Out of the ashes of Black Sheep rose VILE’s greatest enemy: Carmen Sandiego. 

Coach Brunt could barely look or talk to him anymore. He often found her rocking herself in her quarters with dry eyes, staring off into space no one could see. Once gruff yet affectionate, she turned into a machine, flatly criticizing and faintly praising, if ever. 

He should have hated Black Sheep for this. He didn’t.

They say when a person dies, they are spoken of reverently, and once acceptance settles in, their loved ones talk of them fondly, nostalgically. Mime Bomb learned long ago to never trust what some people say. “Black Sheep” was muttered like a curse and “Carmen Sandiego,” if ever uttered, was spat on like dirt. While Le Chèrve focused more on the audacity of her actions, El Topo spared pitying glances at Mime Bomb sometimes. Tigress saw it as an opportunity to gloat. 

“Maybe Lambikins finally realized being a big girl means not crying to Mama Brunt,” she drawled, voice dripping with venom. 

Mime Bomb dug his nails into the skin of his palm, trying not to lash out at her. Crackle took the news of his former best friend particularly badly, not talking for weeks. When he did, he all but begged the Faculty to find her, not to capture or kill her, but to convince her to come back to VILE. For once, Mime Bomb agreed with him, so he came along. 

“Absolutely _not,”_ Coach Brunt growled angrily. 

Shadow-san pursed his lips in thought. “For once,” he said, “I agree with Coach Brunt. We must not allow traitors back into our fold.”

The vote was 5-0.

Crackle sighed, silently resigned as he left. _Well,_ Mime Bomb thought, fuming, _I may be silent. But I will not be resigned. My sister is alive, and I will bring her home._

——————————————

Five months later, he finally found her. 

Or rather, she found him.

He didn’t recognize her in the dark alleyway at first. When she stepped forward, he still didn’t recognize her. It was not until he locked both hands in a chokehold around her neck that he saw Carmen Sandiego in the flesh.

The girl that was Black Sheep really _was_ dead. In her place, a beautiful woman with long dark red locks and a matching outfit writhed beneath him, hat knocked off by his sudden force and face illuminated by the street light. 

Mime Bomb’s eyes widened and he gasped despite himself. She took the brief moment to dig her heel into his lower thigh. Mime Bomb winced, nursing it as he let her roll out of his grasp. It wasn’t a very difficult task; he was a very lightweight man. He glared at her: _I would have let you go anyway if I’d known it was you._

Carmen’s face remained impassive as she knelt against the brick wall. “Yes, I know you would have,” she said simply.

For a moment, Mime Bomb didn’t really know what to do. Finally, he decided to play a game. He pointed at her, and then to himself, then began miming himself in a box. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Charades?”

Mime Bomb smiled, forming a finger gun in her direction. It could have been the darkness or his imagination, but briefly, he saw Carmen grin back affectionately.

He took off his beret, revealing orange-red hair. Tossing it on the ground, he slicked his hair back, narrowed his eyes, and knit his eyebrows in an overly-serious face.

“Hmmmm…are you Professor Maelstrom?” 

He snapped. _Exactly._ He then stood very tall, putting his hands on his hips. He quirked his lips into a brief duck face.

Carmen looked at him, confused. “Is it Countess Cleo?”

Mime Bomb stuck his thumb up. She was always good at this.

“That is _not_ how she’s like,” Carmen scoffed, but it barely hid a laugh. “I think I get the idea. The whole Faculty, right?”

He nodded. Then he raised his right hand, five times in all. “They all agreed on something?”

He quickly made a gesture to her with his left hand, then put his right hand on his forehead, squinting as if trying to look for something. Then suddenly, he formed his arms into a big X. “Looking…for me…wasn’t allowed,” said Carmen with a raised eyebrow.

Mime Bomb was running out of affirmative gestures, so he settled on nodding again. He began to run in place, pointing to himself.

“You ran away to find me?” Mime Bomb put five fingers up. “For five days now?”

Mime Bomb shook his head. He spread his arms to symbolize a longer time period.

Carmen sighed regretfully. “Five months, huh?”

Mime Bomb nodded. He then picked up his phone, scrolling down his recent contacts. There wasn’t much, but it appeared that one goat emoji and tiger and swearing emojis were recently called. “You keep in touch with our former roommates to let VILE know you’re alive.” Carmen narrowed her eyes suspiciously, reaching into her pocket. “Did you bring them with you tonight?”

He shook his head firmly. Carmen nodded. “Good. Just checking.” She released her hand from her coat. “Anything else?”

Mime Bomb got down on his knees, crawling towards her on the wall. She let him. Taking her palms in his own and leaning his head so his makeup didn’t smudge her coat, he said what he needed to say in silence: _Come home, Black Sheep._

Carmen didn’t pull away, but she did groan quietly. “You know I can’t do that, Mime Bro,” she said softly.

Mime Bomb bit his red lips, not ready to give up just yet. _Why?_ That was the only thought at that moment. If she wouldn’t come home, he at least wanted an explanation.

“I bet you’re wondering why I left,” she stated, reading his mind, “I’ll tell you what happened that night. You deserve to know.”

The memories were still fresh in her mind. More specifically? What her former friends said.

_Tigress sneered. “Go. I’ll take care of the runt.”_

_El Topo, of all people, called out to Gray. “Crackle, remember, leave no witnesses.” Black Sheep gasped at him, shocked. But perhaps most jarring of all was what her best friend did that night._

“ _Gray, no! What is wrong with you??” She’d yelled._

_Then the chloroform met her mouth and all went black._

By the time she was done with her story, Mime Bomb had lifted his head off her shoulder. For a moment, his mouth went agape with shock. Then, his makeup streaked down his face along with his tears. He hadn’t cried for five months.

She could be lying. Yet somehow, her haunted tone seemed too real to not be. How could VILE have done this? Sure they were thieves. They also prided themselves on the concept of family. Family didn’t keep secrets from each other. More importantly, family didn’t kill people. He soon came to a sickening concept: _VILE was never family._

His gloved hands met his face in agony. If he could scream, he would. Carmen wrapped her arms around his head tightly. She could always read his feelings, and the emotions were familiar. The same feeling occurred to her that night five months ago. 

And so they sat in the light of the streetlamps of Brooklyn, two siblings orphaned even while the people who raised them lived and breathed. Finally, Carmen Sandiego, in her red coat smeared with white makeup, turned his equally smudged face to meet her own lovely one. “If you want, I can find you a place to live. Get you a passport and new ID. You can live a new life without VILE.”

Mime Bomb didn’t budge, still shaken. Perhaps he could, but then he’d be alone again. That was the last thing he wanted. 

_Changes. Choices. Death. The three constants._

Mime Bomb was dead now, the old one at least, merely a ghost of the past with his sister, Black Sheep. His swollen blue eyes looked at Carmen, and there was no choice when it came to her. He tugged on her coat and nodded. _I’m coming with you._

Carmen clearly didn’t expect that. A conflicted expression dawned upon her features. “I don’t want to drag you along too. It’s a lot of danger, going against a bloodthirsty criminal organization.” He tugged on her coat again, more insistently this time. _I’m coming._

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She cracked a smile. “Guess I have two pairs of siblings on my team now. Remember Shadow-san? Yeah, guess who’s helping take down VILE now.”She stood up, outstretching her black-gloved hand. Mime Bomb took it with his white one. 

Together, they walked off into the night, brother and sister once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request from SayuriFanFicWorld. Interesting prompt, thank you for sending it!


	5. The Language of Their Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paper Star had hearing organs too, despite popular belief. She didn’t understand French, but she was fairly sure Le Chérve had lovely comments about her mental health. He acted as if his hands were clean. They weren’t, and not just because of the blood from her shurikens. She simply hated to do things in halves unless it was someone’s body parts, that’s all. Still, earning the fearful hatred of a somewhat competent operative…that had to be an achievement. 

Paper Star had hearing organs too, despite popular belief. She didn’t understand French, but she was fairly sure Le Chérve had _lovely_ comments about her mental health. He acted as if his hands were clean. They weren’t, and not just because of the blood from her _shurikens._ She simply hated to do things in halves unless it was someone’s body parts, that’s all. Still, earning the fearful hatred of a somewhat competent operative…that had to be an achievement. 

All she wanted to do was topple in her bunk to be left with her own vengeful fantasies about Carmen Sandiego. When she got back from the mission with nothing but a keycard and a bad temper, she couldn’t help a sideways glance at the goat man on a bench in the halls of the Academy. He was facing away, thankfully. He was still grumbling about her, but not by himself. A smaller, silver-haired man who appeared to be Hispanic listened with a wince, holding the goat’s cut-ravaged hands in his own larger ones. Paper Star rolled her eyes. She’d heard rumors about El Topo.

_Crybaby,_ she thought with slight disgust. _He would have probably come to him wailing about me. At least the goat put up a fight._

She didn’t know why the taller man kept him around. Relationships like that, especially such close “friendships,” made VILE superiors antsy. If they lost one, they almost certainly lost the other. It was unspoken, but present. And if El Topo was as sweet and kind _(and weak, but no one dared to say that if Le Chérve was around)_ as people said, she hoped Le Chérve was prepared to go on more solo missions.

She scowled to herself as El Topo wrapped his arms around his “friend” comfortingly. Taking advantage of his closed eyes, she dashed silently down the hall instead of her characteristic skipping to avoid either’s notice. 

Paper Star didn’t notice the gangly man with the painted face in front of her when she turned the hall.

She fell back with the impact, landing on her backside. Rubbing her forehead where the stranger’s hit her, the other hand searched in her neon-green leather jacket for a star to slash this person’s eyes out. 

His eyes blinked hard and rapidly _(for now, at least,_ she thought), processing what had just taken place as she looked hostilely at him. With a pale face made up in white makeup with black rings around the eyes and a painted red mouth, he looked like a perpetually confused clown. What was a clown doing at VILE Academy?

No matter, he seemed to have gotten over the shock. With an apologetic expression, he bent down and outstretched his hand. With narrowed eyes, Paper Star drew an eight-spiked origami star, slashing his hand with it. To her surprise, only his glove got the biting gesture. He just stared unflinchingly at her, still holding out his hand. She huffed. Today was not her best day. It couldn’t hurt- or if it did, he would be the one injured. Giving in, she took the stranger’s hand, his glove containing a long thin slash that exposed pale skin.

Getting pulled up to his level (or at least most of it, for her petite height did not make for even playing ground with this tall man), she took a cursory glance at him. In the middle of the black circles, his eyes were dark and blue. The white makeup looked like it had stayed on for a long day, begging to either be taken off or be painted on again. His shaggy orange-red hair peaked out from a plain black beret.

“Well?” She switched to her dangerously soft-spoken demeanor. “Are you going to say something?”

The clown looked behind him, then pointed to himself questioningly. “Yes you,” she affirmed, slipping a hand into her pocket lest he try something distinctly unlikeable.

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. Instead, his hand flew to his throat, tapping it lightly so a message was communicated: _I can’t speak._

“Ah.” That ruled out the threat of tongue-cutting. “That’s okay. Do you have a name?”

He gestured to the entirety of him. “Clown?” He pursed his lips and shook his head. That’s when it hit her: he wasn’t a clown. He was a mime. “Mime?”

The mime nodded. He then brought closed hands together, then just as quickly unclamped them, signaling an explosion. “Bomb? Mime Bomb,” she said as she questioned her life decisions leading up to this very moment. She was playing charades in a hallway. He seemed happy though, so Mime Bomb it was. 

She nodded shortly and spun on her heel to go to her room, which was a rare single bed chamber. It served both as a benefit of being Maelstrom’s favorite and a courtesy of her old roommates, who had complained. Before she wandered too far, Mime Bomb caught up with her, tapping her cautiously on the shoulder. She froze. People she left first impressions on didn’t exactly run after her for anything else. She turned around, eyes squinted in annoyance now. 

“What do you want?” she asked flatly. 

In response, he simply held her _shuriken_ out to her. It was a pretty thing, with paper made from copies of midnight blue-stroked swirls from Van Gogh’s _Starry Night._ However, the paper was too thin and couldn’t do much damage at all. She didn’t know if she used this specific one on him on accident or on purpose. 

She pushed his hand back in a rare gesture of generosity. “Keep it,” she said tiredly. It matched his eyes, anyway.

Mime Bomb smiled, bowing his head slightly as a sign of thanks. As he was turning, she called out one more time. “Mime Bomb,” she offered _(what am I doing,_ she thought), “I’m Paper Star.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, grin still upon his face. And when she toppled onto her bed that night, maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t only going to think about revenge.

—————————————

They kept meeting.

Paper Star, as a semi-bookish little girl in Japan (when she wasn’t tearing up the books to make origami creations), always felt that if she learned a new vocabulary word, it would appear more often, as if it had always been there and she just never realized. That, she felt, was just like Mime Bomb. As it turned out, they graduated only a year apart, meaning they’d almost certainly seen each other around the institution. If she could give a definition to him, she was sure it was different than what most said.

_Snitch,_ they muttered, _weirdo, freak._

 _Talented,_ she thought, _a good listener, funny._

They started sitting together in the mess hall when they didn’t have missions. The table was always empty for them. No one wanted to sit with the spy and the psychopath. Even VILE had a social ladder, and they weren’t very far on it. There they’d swap stories about missions and just talk. Well, _she_ talked at least. He mostly listened. The conversation flow came surprisingly easy for a woman who didn’t have many people to talk to at all. The listening skills were equally nice for a man who often had to hear more negative comments, mostly about him. Some nights, she’d give him slips of origami paper and teach him simple things like cranes and boxes. He probably learned them in Shadow-san’s class, but Mime Bomb made it clear that he much preferred her way. 

She couldn’t help noticing his face creased in concentration when he did his own craft. He was taking it quite seriously, she observed proudly.

“Take the glove off.” she half asked, half ordered. He obliged. “Good. Running your nail over it will make the creases sharper.” _And better for optimal skin damage._

He nodded. She scattered instructions with intermittent conversation. Soon enough, he gazed at an admittedly well-made crane, then at her for judgement. She hummed in mock uncertainty. A look of anticipating hurt fell upon his face that seemed too familiar upon his features. “I like it,” she said quietly, not to spare his feelings, but because she did. Mime Bomb beamed. He found some _shurikens_ and a vial of poison from Lady Dokuso’s classroom by his bedside that night.

Other times, he returned the favor. He sat her down a few minutes after dinner the first night (operatives were free to use the mess hall at all times). At her inquisitive dart of eyes, he opened a thin black kit he had been holding to reveal…face paint. That did not ease her now burning curiosity. Mime Bomb suddenly seemed uneasy. He formed his hand as if holding a brush and circled it in the air in front of her face, yet the whole movement seemed to be a question. _So that’s what he wants to do. Paint my face._

He made a dismissing gesture with his left hand that clearly said they didn’t have to do it if she didn’t want to, though his face shone with hope. She shrugged, already slinging her legs over to his side of the table to sit next to him. He quirked his eyebrows up in pleased surprise.

Paper Star huffed impatiently, yet not unkindly. “What are you waiting for? Go on.”

He showed the long kit to her, colors that ranged from pastel to bold, rainbow and more. She settled on a neon green, black, and magenta. Mime Bomb looked at her face contemplatively, as if it were a living canvas. Which, she supposed, was true in this case. Finally, he picked up a brush, and she closed her eyes as thick strokes lined her face. After about ten minutes of painting in her base, she felt a much smaller brush tickle the skin an inch or two below her eye. She couldn’t tell the shape so far, but she also couldn’t open her mouth just yet. 

He shook her gently, indicating he was done at last. She opened her eyes, which looked at her reflection in the mirror of the kit. The right side of her face was painted neon green, the left side magenta, and both were perfectly split. Black paper stars were painted beneath her eyes delicately, looking exactly like the ones she made. It all looked oddly becoming upon her rounder face. She stared in amazement, letting herself genuinely smile for the first time in a long while. Mime Bomb seemed equally pleased, visibly proud of his work and her ensuing reaction.

She turned a small grin to him. That was thank you in the language of their own. Mime Bomb winked, then hesitantly opened his arms. She slid into them, careful not to smudge the temporary masterpiece on her face.

“Let’s do it again sometime,” she said as she pulled away.

One thumbs up had never looked so optimistic.

Her face earned some odd looks (more than usual, at least) skipping away cheerfully from the mess hall. Frankly, Paper Star couldn’t have cared less. 

—————————————

A few months later, she was finally allowed to go back on group missions. The Faculty appeared to have caught on to her companionship with Mime Bomb, so even though their manner was somewhat cautious, they agreed that perhaps it was for the best that she be sent with someone she was familiar with. 

One of Paper Star’s favorite things about stealth missions was disguises and assuming new identities. She could fold herself into someone new like the paper she loved so much. This time, she was a wealthy heiress with dirty secrets. _So really, any wealthy heiress,_ she thought silently when the Cleaners handed her the passport. Those secrets were a certain ruby & diamond _Cartier_ necklace (which could apparently double as a tiara) and earrings set, worn by the equally dazzling Elizabeth Taylor once upon a time. Now, for a limited time only, the current owner had generously allowed it to be exhibited where it was first bestowed upon the starlet by her husband: Villa Fiorentina, overlooking Florence, Italy. In other words, this was a Countess Cleo mission.

As for Mime Bomb? Aside from mere assistance, he was to call for aid lest Paper Star pull a Le Chérve on him or anyone else. _Seriously, could the Frenchman let a girl go?_

There was a friend of Roundabout’s with an anonymous identity who was supposed to await them there under the guise of a meeting to discuss the funds of his “charity ball.” She slipped the long strap of her purse that held her essentials (deadly poison, less deadly poison, and _shurikens_ sharp as her mind) and straightened out her practical black and white dress. And just as easily as she was Paper Star in the first place, she crumpled her faux childish persona and folded into someone so jarringly adult you could never have met a more mature and stoical young woman. 

Mime Bomb transformed just as easily. He went from an awkward yet oddly endearing presence to her narrow-eyed, ominously silent secretary. The change even extended to his clothing, his unique uniform of a striped sweater and black pants cast aside for a suave suit with hardly any distinguishing qualities. With his hair slicked back and pale face scowling, he became the brooding, calculating spy everyone knew him to be. Everyone except Paper Star. She knew him, the man who pretended to laugh even if he was the butt of the joke. The man who painted her face except when she didn’t want to (and she rarely ever refused). The man who reached out to _her,_ one of VILE’s vilest. _That_ was the real him. She would gladly decapitate anyone who said otherwise.

The mystery man stood by the heavy doors with icy eyes. His nose was upturned in a constant haughty face, his lips thin and tight. He was as cold and remote as a mountain, ironic for a man of his stature. Even Paper Star was taller than him. _“Buongiorno,”_ he said in a tone that screamed that he wanted anything but for them, “won’t you meet me inside?”

They did. He nodded stiffly. “So, I believe you know what we’re here for, is that right?”

“No,” she said, rolling her eyes. She didn’t like this man already.

The feeling was mutual. “Right.” He narrowed his blue eyes at her judgmentally. “You know, it’s rare that Roundabout sends me such… _hostile_ characters to my galas.”

Paper Star scrunched her nose at him indignantly, clenching her fist as her face grew hot. Clearly Roundabout had told him all about them and she suddenly felt the sudden urge to see how the man would look with scars upon his face. However, Mime Bomb glanced at her worriedly, and he didn’t need words to tell her that this was a tense situation. “Well,” she said, projecting her voice so a threat was implied, “I think we get the job done, and that’s all we’re here for.”

“Of course.” And the silence froze the room. Mime Bomb squirmed. The other man pursed his lips, gesturing with his balding head to her “secretary” in the corner. “This one’s not much of a talker, is he?”

Both operatives stiffened. “No, sir,” she answered for him, “he’s mute.”

The man bristled visibly at this. Mime Bomb’s facade didn’t flinch, but a quick dart of eyes said otherwise. “I remember a time VILE had standards for their operatives instead of just recruiting disabled, weak-”

And just like that, the man had completely burned her composure that he had so generously ripped during this whole encounter. She threw a star that flew so close to his scalp that a small lock of graying brown hair floated to the ground and settled there. Mime Bomb’s eyes grew wide in shock. The _shuriken_ itself slashed open a sizable hole in the projector.

She quickly inhaled deeply and exhaled. Then she fixed a loose black strand from her single-bunned hair and began to speak. “You must be thinking I missed,” she said calmly, “but I don’t miss. You must think luck saved you, that you don’t have to have ‘died by paper cut’ on your epitaph. But luck can’t save you, and neither can your power, your money, or even your prayers. Now, we’re going to leave, we’re going to steal the _Cartier_ jewels tonight without your help, and we’re going to see to it that you will never insult my companion again, one way or the other. Do I make myself clear?”

The man’s lower lip trembled, as did the rest of him. He could only stay frozen in place and shakily nod. Paper Star thanked him curtly, took Mime Bomb’s hand, and led him out of the meeting room. When they were outside, Mime Bomb could only gawk at her. No one had ever defended him, she realized, much less threatened for him. 

She had not gone down from her adrenaline rush just yet. So, in her boldest move that day (including the latest incident), she grabbed Mime Bomb by the collar of his suit and crushed her lips to his. He gasped silently but did not pull away, instead kissing her back just as quick and fiercely. Paper Star decided that this was just as much a part of their language as a gesture. _I think,_ she thought, _I’m going to speak it more often._

It didn’t matter in that moment whether her sworn enemy, Carmen Sandiego, would steal back the jewels. She would eventually, after quite a challenging scuffle. But Paper Star found that she didn’t care if the Faculty hated her for this. Her whole life she’d been hated, vehemently so, for being different, being rebellious. The one rule she thought she would never break was having close relationships. But looking at the mime sleeping on her shoulder in the private jet home to VILE Academy, the one she had unexpectedly grown close to, she pondered: _What’s one more broken rule?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request from tskardt and...perhaps I was quite into it. XD I actually really like this ship. I think I may actually ship Spychopath. Sorry if things take longer, I made a goal to make each prompt at least 1,000 words.


	6. Even Scarlet Shadows Need Spa Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen didn't even know Zack was capable of eating vegetables. 
> 
> “ZACK,” she whisper-screamed frantically, “don’t eat the cucumbers off your face.”

Carmen didn't even know Zack was capable of eating vegetables. 

“ZACK,” she whisper-screamed frantically, “don’t eat the cucumbers off your face.”

He froze, a slice of cucumber halfway in his mouth. He chuckled guiltily. “Sorry, Carm,” he said, “I probably shouldn’t be eating things that aren’t edible.”

Ivy facepalmed with her painted hand from her chair where Carmen was giving her a manicure. “Bro, it _is_ edible, but I don’t think it’s recommended with face mask goop. Also, _you didn’t know you could eat cucumbers??”_

“Alright, alright,” he said, huffing, “geez, it’s like the milk incident all over again.”

Player’s voice rang clearly through Carmen’s video call. “Zack, even _I_ know brown cows don’t produce chocolate milk,” he said smartly.

Hearty laughter bubbled in Carmen’s warehouse base, the type that you hear at parties when maybe everyone's a little bit too tired and the joke is something you’ve heard before, but it makes you crack up anyway. This, to the average person, was nothing out of the ordinary, but for Carmen and her friends _(her family,_ in more accurate terms), it was a welcome change from all the fighting and the filching. As much as they loved doing their part as being the final barrier between the world and the chaos VILE would cause it, it drained them more than anyone liked to admit. 

Which is why they all planned this very spa day every first and third Saturday of the month. Sometimes, if they had to travel, they would do actual spas to support local businesses (and see how other cultures interpreted relaxation). Today, though, they opted to remain inside because Carmen was still regaining her strength from her near-hypothermia experience back in Sweden. This week’s theme was mud masks and manicures.

For a moment, comfortable silence settled. “Hey Player,” said Ivy, “sorry you can’t be here with us. I’d feel awful if I had to miss a chance to kick back and chill.”

Player waved his hand nonchalantly. “I’m good, Ivy,” he replied, “I mean, staying in this chair and talking to you guys is chill enough for me. Besides, relaxing is not my thing most of the time, to be honest.”

Ivy looked a little concerned. Carmen shared her worry. He _was_ only sixteen, after all. But they shrugged it off. As long as he was getting the required eight hours of sleep and didn’t drink too many Gatorades, he would be fine. She screwed on the cap to the silver nail polish, tapping Ivy’s wrist to signal that she was done. She looked down and gasped with delight. Carmen had painted little pandas on her ring fingers, referencing their recent trip to Gansu, China. “Wow Carm,” she exclaimed, “these are adorable! Thanks!”

“No problem, glad you like it,” Carmen said, winking at her.

“Y’know,” Ivy added, rubbing the back of her neck, “I would totally do you nails, but…I don’t really have the most graceful hand.”

It was Zack’s turn to scoff. “You’re tellin’ me! Remember my 7th grade picture day?” He made a buzzing noise while running a hand straight along the side of his scalp. Then he made his voice a higher pitch to (quite perfectly) imitate Ivy’s. “Zack, sit still, I’m trying to-OH NO! NONONONONONONONO!!!!! HOLD ON, I CAN FIX THIS!” 

Ivy’s face grew a brilliant scarlet in embarrassment. “That was your own fault, ya doofus,” she snapped, “you shoulda stayed still like I told you to.” He was too busy whipping out his phone.

“Wanna see a picture?” He scrolled up for a while and stopped on one particular photo. He walked towards the rest of them. It was every bit as comical as he described it to be. He was practically bald on both sides of his head, save for some awfully shaved fuzz. It wasn’t evenly cut, the top puffed up and curled, and to top it off, it was covered poorly with a ragged green beanie. He looked like a great, sentient carrot. An extremely annoyed and humiliated carrot going through puberty. Carmen sniggered despite herself while Player snorted openly in the background.

Ivy smacked him upside the head, which only caused him to laugh even harder. “Look Ivy,” he managed to gasp out, “if _you_ feel embarrassed, _I_ wanted to ask a girl out for the community dance that day.”

“Ooh,” Player hissed sympathetically, “did she…say yes?”

Zack looked at him, one eyebrow raised sarcastically. “What do you think, kid?”

Player pursed his lips. “Sorry, dude.”

“I wouldn’t have allowed you to go anyway, ya know.” Ivy was still red when she turned to Carmen. “So, Carm, I think you get the message. Maybe you should ask someone else.”

Carmen examined the room. Zack could barely put on his own exfoliating mask, so she ruled him out. It would have been a bit of a stretch to go all the way to Ontario to have Player paint her nails. She may have been able to paint others’ nails, but she seemed unable to do so for herself. She exhaled. “It’s fine guys, I think I can wai-”

“Allow me.” The deep sudden voice came from the doorway that led to the kitchen. Looking over, the siblings and she gasped in pleasant surprise.

“SHADOW-SAN!” Zack and Ivy yelled happily.

And indeed, the man himself stood in the doorway with a characteristic grumble, but uncharacteristically, he was smiling.

Carmen herself grinned in a lopsided way. “I thought you were in Malaysia until the end of the week,” she stated curiously.

He sighed. “It was a tiring mission. I hate to admit it, but I need a break.”

Zack, Ivy, Carmen, and Player exchanged a unanimous look. It was rare that Shadow-san confessed _anything,_ much less the fact that he too had human feelings like tiredness. However, it was unlikely he would reveal anything beyond that point, especially not if they kept pressing for details. Besides, it was spa day. The number one rule of spa day was to leave anything that might stress you out at the door and out of conversation.

Shadow-san pulled up a chair to sit by Carmen. She held her hands out to him, a thankful expression on her face.

“So Ivy,” Carmen called, “did Zack ever get you back? For the haircut, I mean.”

Ivy’s eyes landed on Zack in a massive side-eye. “He got me back, alright. I still remember my eighth grade graduation.”

Zack flashed a smirk at her. “Oh but my dear sister, I meant every word,” he drawled.

_“Please,”_ she hissed, “you did that on purpose. I shoulda known.”

“What did he do?” Player’s curious voice popped up again.

Carmen could already see Zack starting to crack up. “He was supposed to write some heartfelt speech to celebrate my graduation,” Ivy explained, though it sounded more like growling, “and he procrastinated so hard he ended up _rickrolling_ me the day of.”

At this point, Zack was hyperventilating. And so was Player and Carmen. Even Shadow-san’s mouth curved up in a small chuckle. Ivy’s face was likely red underneath the mud she’d just slathered on. 

“To my credit, sis,” Zack said, “I kept a totally straight face while I was saying it.”

“AGH!” With that, Ivy began to list all the reasons you should never use ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ as a graduation speech.

Carmen’s mouth perked up at the siblings’ banter and turned to Shadow-san, who was painting her nails in a scarlet shade and groaning at Ivy, who now stumbled blindly after Zack with cucumbers still on her eyes. “That’s pretty,” she commented, looking at her hands.

Shadow-san nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing.

“I guess,” Carmen thought aloud, “you have to have stable hands to do origami, so this isn’t that difficult for you, is it?”

“Indeed.” Shadow-san raised his eyes to meet hers. “Countess Cleo always needed someone to do her manicures.”

Carmen threw her head back and laughed. “I figured,” she said.

“Stay still,” he ordered gruffly.

She did. Both stayed quiet, instead absorbing the white noise that came from Zack and Ivy’s bickering and Player’s occasional bursts of laughter.

Now Shadow-san set the scarlet shade aside and, being the detail-oriented man he was, decided to pick up a white nail color with a thin brush and began to meticulously create small, delicate flowers.

“Are you alright?” He has been so silent that when the ninja spoke up, Carmen listened immediately.

“I could be better,” she responded honestly. Hypothermia was not easy to recover from, as she’d learned. Her body sometimes felt spells of numbness, and that was saying nothing of the trauma.

Shadow-san grumbled thoughtfully, but sympathy or maybe empathy overtook his aged eyes. 

“Are you alright?” She parroted his question.

His eyes darted, but she noticed it just in time. If it weren’t spa day, she would be on him like Chase Devineaux was on her.

He looked squarely into her gray eyes and a grin ghosted his features. “You are alive. That is alright enough for me.”

Carmen was stunned, but slowly, her lips perked up in a touched smile.

Silence couldn’t speak, but for Carmen Sandiego at that very moment, it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

Finally, Shadow-san finished her nails. The sweetness of the moment still lingered. 

“There’s some leftover mud mask mixture on the dinner table.” Carmen pointed it out.

Shadow-San was already halfway across the room. “I noticed.”

With that, he rubbed the mixture on himself, grabbed the cucumbers off Zack’s face and put it on his own, and flopped on the couch.

_Another successful spa day,_ Carmen thought with peaceful content. 

The world was a stressful place for Carmen and her gang, but there were times, people, and memories where it didn’t have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request for @Breemarie12256. Love ya, Bree! This prompt was a lot of fun!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for stopping by and reading. Comments and kudos are always welcome. I started this because of my passion for Carmen Sandiego, and I know you guys must love it as much as me. As such, please do send in a prompt, with the condition of no violence or NSFW content. Thank you again for reading, and I’ll see ya next time!


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